Sihir of Slytherin
by SihirTheSlytherin
Summary: With a dark family history that he tries to keep quiet, a young man must choose sides when he is sorted into a House famous for creating Dark Wizards... (A new story set during the time of Harry Potter, set between Years 2-7 and after. Relatively Canon-compliant, but changes WILL happen as the story progresses.) In-Progress: Restarted as of 12/26/19
1. Prologue: First Year

**Prologue: First Year**

* * *

 ** _A.N. Hey all! It's been a while, but I'm restarting the fic again. Disappointing, but I had some ideas I wanted to explore and felt that restarting it would be ideal. Expect the first four chapters to be out quickly._**

* * *

 _Mr. S. Warren._

 _The Attic, Sunny Cove Cottage_

 _Falmouth, Cornwall_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Mr S. Warren,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Sihir looked up at the shop's sign, the letters golden, but peeling somewhat. _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ One of the more important stops a new student would make when purchasing their school supplies for their First Year at Hogwarts.

His mother, Naima, sighed. "Ollivanders. This brings me back…" She looked down at her son. "Want me to go in with you?" When Sihir shook his head, she smiled. "Meet me at Florian's when you're done, we'll grab some ice-cream." She kissed him on the head, and wandered off.

As Sihir entered the shop, another customer was exiting, a curly-haired boy escorted by a witch, and two adults dressed in muggle clothes. As Sihir held the door open, he noticed the boy was holding a wand in his hand, an amazed expression on his face. "So, I would use this to do magic, then?" the boy asked the witch, who nodded.

"Wands are important tools for channelling your magic. Of course, some who are more experienced might be able to cast spells wandlessly," she explained as she made her way out of the shop. "Thank you," she said, nodding at Sihir. "New student?"

"Y-yes… uh, Sihir Warren. Professor..?"

"McGonagall. I'll be your Transfiguration Teacher." She smiled. "I look forward to seeing you in class, Mr. Warren." She continued on her way, leading the Muggles back into the street.

"H-hello," the curly-haired boy said as he passed Sihir. "I'm Justin, Finch-Fletchley."

"Hey, I'm Sihir Warren. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.

The muggle-born took it, smiling. "Same to you. Maybe I'll see you on the Express!"

Sihir smiled back. "Maybe! See you then." The four made their way, the parents nodding politely at Sihir. Sihir entered the shop. It was small, made even smaller by the stacks and stacks of boxes reaching up to the ceiling.

Ollivander, himself, was an old man, studying Sihir with pale eyes as he entered the shop. "Mr. Warren, I take it?"

Sihir was taken aback. He couldn't have heard him from outside, could he? "How did you know?"

Ollivander smiled. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. That includes your mother, Mr. Warren." He took a step towards Sihir, studying him closer. "Eleven and a half inches, phoenix feather, quite fine, made of willow. I was of the thought she would make a talented healer."

Sihir smiled nervously under his scrutiny. "She works at St. Mungo's."

"Just so! Wand arm?" Sihir held out his right arm, and Ollivander went to work measuring Sihir's various limbs and body parts. After a while the measuring tape began working on its own as Ollivander went searching through the boxes. "Based on those… Try this one." He returned with a few boxes from the stacks, and handed Sihir one. "Twelve inches, Holly and Unicorn Hair. Bendy."

Excitement coursed through Sihir as he pulled the wand from the box, but Sihir barely waved it at all before it was snatched from him. "No, no, no, maybe not that one… how about this? Fourteen inches, Yew and Dragon Heartstring." This one, too, was barely attempted before being taken. "No, no… hmm…" He turned and walked into the back of the shop, muttering to himself.

"Mr. Ollivander, sir?" Sihir called. "How long does this usually take?" Wands were not a simple purchase, it seemed.

"Oh, depends," the wandmaker said, returning with more boxes. "The wand must be right for the witch or wizard that wields it, and the wizard or witch must be right for the wand!" The two went through another dozen or so wands, of varying combinations. What felt like his thirtieth attempted wand was given to Sihir. Sihir felt a warmth from the wood, a comforting warmth he felt spreading from his fingers throughout his whole body. A small smile formed on his face as he gave the wand a wave. Golden sparks flew from the end, showering the wand-maker's shop in light.

Ollivander smiled jovially, and turned to straighten out some of the boxes they'd been pulling from the shelves. "Aha! You see? The perfect wand. Willow, eight inches, and a unicorn hair. Quite short, as far as most wands go…" He paused, looking down at the boy. "Willow wands tend to have healing properties."

Sihir brightened. "Is that why you thought my mother would be a healer?"

Ollivander's silvery eyes twinkled. "Exactly, young man."

* * *

"Nervous for tomorrow?" Sihir and his mother were eating dinner, the night before he would leave for Hogwarts. A day he'd been looking forward to, and dreading.

Sihir shrugged, a somewhat blank expression on his face. "I don't know."

She smiled. "I was nervous when I first stepped onto that platform all those years ago. As soon as I found a compartment and sat down, I was fine. I made new friends, and we were so excited! You'll know the Campbells from Tinworth, so not everyone will be a complete stranger. I mean, they're a few years above you, but…" She frowned, noticing her son's expression hadn't changed. "Not eating?"

Sihir shrugged again. "I guess I am a bit scared." He moved some greens around his plate. "D'you… D'you think anyone will know?"

Naima sighed. She knew what was bothering him. "No, I don't think so. You have my name, anyway, not… his." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You have nothing to worry about. He's in _Azkaban_. He's not going _anywhere_. _He can't hurt anyone ever again_."

* * *

Sihir's mother was right. The nervousness Sihir experienced was vanishing by the time Sihir sat down in an empty compartment. Marcus Campbell, his friend from Tinworth, had already found a compartment with his Third Year friends in Hufflepuff, but it was good to see a familiar face.

"Sihir, right?" He jumped at the sound of his name, but at the door was the curly-haired boy from Ollivanders. Students were milling about behind him, meeting with friends and loading their trunks and other baggage.

"Yes, Justin?" The boy nodded. "Would you like to join me?"

Justin smiled, entering the compartment. Sihir helped him with his trunk, and they both sat down. "Thanks. I was hoping I'd see you again."

Sihir smiled back. "Well, glad to have you. I've never actually met a muggle before. Well, outside of when we go to the market or the mosque, but…"

Justin's eyebrow raised slightly. "Never met one?"

"Well, we tend to avoid muggles when we can. Did Professor McGonagall tell you about the Statute?"

Justin nodded. "I see. So, no interaction with any muggles, ever?"

Sihir shrugged. "I mean, we buy things. Halal market for food. It's easier to wear muggle clothes out and about, so we buy clothes in town." He paused. "But as I said, we tend to avoid muggles when we can. Our house is warded from muggles, actually. They can't find it or approach it."

"Expecting anyone else?" A new voice interrupted, belonging to a stout boy with dirty-blonde hair.

Sihir smiled. "No, join us!"

After getting situated, the newcomer extended a hand. "Ernest Macmillan, very pleased to meet you both."

Sihir recognised the name, a prestigious pureblooded family. "Sihir Warren. Wasson?" Sihir shook his hand.

"Justin, Finch-Fletchley," Justin greeted.

"So, either you have any preference on the Sorting? My family has been in that House for at least nine generations, so I'm hoping for that."

"Hufflepuff?" Justin asked, confused.

"It's one of the four Houses at Hogwarts." Sihir explained.

"Ah, a Muggle-born, then?" Ernie smiled when Justin nodded. "It's fascinating to think, you had no idea about magic being real until quite recently."

Justin smiled. "I know, it's all still very strange. We thought Professor McGonagall was insane when she explained it to us, but turned our teapot into a gerbil. It was quite a shock for my parents."

Sihir chuckled. "I'm sure."

A horn sounded, and the three felt the train's gears chugging.

"Here we go!" Ernie and Sihir looked out the window, seeing the station zip past, and the countryside approaching.

Justin remained seated. "This isn't some weird, long dream then? We're actually going to learn magic?

Ernie looked back at him, grinning. "That we are, friend, that we are!"

* * *

As the train made its way north, Sihir and Ernie explained the Houses to Justin. "Well, there are four houses that students are sorted into when they arrive. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," Ernie began.

Sihir nodded. "Gryffindor is where a lot of adventurer types come from. Chivalrous, brave, et cetera. People say they are more brawny than brainy." Ernie chuckled at that. "Some of the best Quidditch players in Britain have been in Gryffindor, though the actual team hasn't won the Cup in years."

Ernie shrugged. "You can't win them all, I guess."

Justin seemed puzzled. "Quidditch? What is that?"

Sihir grinned. "That's right, you don't know! Quidditch is basically… um, I think football is kind of similar, I'm not sure. It's played on broomsticks in the air, and a few diff-"

"Wait… Broomsticks? You're pulling my leg, right?"

Ernie laughed. "No, flying broomsticks are real."

Justin just stared. "Let's get back to the houses…"

Ernie shot a sideways glance at Sihir, grinning. "Hufflepuff is a little harder to describe. Very fair, hard workers. Impartial. They usually don't get involved in house rivalries, they're a bit more down-to-earth-"

Sihir laughed, interrupting. "'Impartial, hardworking, fair.' Are you at least trying to be humble?"

Ernie grinned. "Shut up."

"Ravenclaw sounds cool."

Sihir chuckled. "Yeah, they do have a cool name, don't they? That's the House I'm hoping for. Their Founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, favored studiousness in her charges. I think I might have a good chance, I like to study history in my spare time anyway, so…"

"History? I hear it's one of the worst subjects at Hogwarts."

"I hear that too…"

"And the last one… Slytherin?"

Sihir grimaced. "That one has kind of a… dark reputation. It was You-Know-Who's House, and most of his followers. Dark wizards."

Justin nodded, more solemnly, though had a puzzled expression. "You-Know-Who?"

Sihir smiled a little. "We don't like to use his name, it just sounds evil, like a dirty word. Remember, this is a fellow that terrorized the wizarding world for a decade. You-Know-Who is… Vol… sorry." Sihir stood, looking through his bag. He produced a piece of paper, and wrote down the name. "I don't want to say it. Here, have a geek." He handed the piece of paper to Justin.

Justin read the name out loud. "Voldemort."

Sihir flinched, sucking in his breath involuntarily.

Justin's face flushed slightly. "Sorry." Sihir waved the apology off.

Ernie coughed. "Not all Slytherins are bad, though. Merlin was a Slytherin."

Sihir looked up. "Merlin?"

Ernie nodded, smiling. "Not the King Arthur one, there was another, a descendant of his. _Famously_ pro-muggle." Sihir was surprised. "And then there's Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Office."

"Auror?" Justin asked.

"Dark wizard catcher."

They continued to give Justin an introduction to the Wizarding World, answering his questions and asking about the Muggle world. They eventually were alerted that they would be arriving soon, and they changed into their robes. The wheels screeched as the train slowed down, and the three looked out the window. A station came into view. A large man, easily nine feet tall, stood on the platform, lantern in hand.

The students filed out of the train, many of them heading towards the path, where a few horseless carriages waited. Sihir made to follow them.

"Firs' years, this way! Don' be shy!" He recognized the man's accent, definitely from the West Country like Sihir, if not Cornwall specifically. Sihir didn't sound much different when his accent came out. The large man on the platform was leading the new students towards the lake.

The crowd of first years, led by the large man they learned was named Hagrid, reached the lake, where boats were waiting. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, referring to the fleet docked on the shore waiting for them. "No need t'row, the boats're enchan'ed."

Sihir climbed into a boat with Justin and Ernie, where they were joined by another boy, scrawny and red-haired with blue-green eyes.

"Hello, I'm Aoibheann Nic Duibh," she greeted quietly, her Irish accent thick.

Sihir greeted her back, along with Ernie and Justin, but they didn't talk much as the boats started to move, as the first years soon got their first view of the castle, an impressive sight to behold. Oohs and ahs came from all around.

The journey by boat took about a half-hour. Soon they docked, and were led by Hagrid to the front door of the castle. "Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" He raised a huge fist in the air and knocked three times on the door.

They were greeted at the door by Professor McGonagall herself, looking sternly down at all the First Years.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She bade them all follow her into the Entrance Hall, and the students followed her to a smaller chamber off the hall, near the Great Hall where the rest of the school was gathered.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall began. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She paused, looking over the students, as if weeding out any imperfections in their appearances. "I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.

Most of the First Years looked terrified and remained silent. The few that talked amongst themselves were under the impression that some sort of test would be conducted. A frizzy-haired girl near Sihir was rattling off a list of spells she'd been practicing on the train, wondering which ones she'd need.

Sihir's mother hadn't told him anything of the Sorting, saying it was a tradition to keep the First Years wondering what was to come. Marcus Campbell hadn't said anything either, he only grinned and said "you'll see!"

Sihir's thoughts were interrupted by a few gasps. About twenty ghosts had just floated into the room through the back wall, arguing amongst themselves and taking little notice of the First Years. One passed right through Sihir, chilling him terribly. A rather fat one was dressed as a monk, and was arguing with another dressed in a ruff and tights. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?" The ghost paused, suddenly noticing the living occupants of the chamber.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A few people nodded, most were too scared to make any answer. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," said the Friar. "My old house, you know." Sihir noticed Ernie Macmillan out of the corner of his eye, smiling nervously at the Friar.

"Move along now," interrupted McGonagall, whose return went unnoticed. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

* * *

The First Years followed Professor McGonagall through the Great Hall, which took them between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. All eyes were on them, watching them walk down the aisle. A few seated amongst the students were ghosts, but many more simply floated above to watch the First Years.

McGonagall produced a four-legged stool and set it down. Upon the stool she set an old and battered hat. There was silence as everyone in the hall, teachers included, stared at it. The Hat suddenly sprang to life, a rip in the brim forming a mouth, and it sang:

 _"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all…"_

The Hat went on to sing about the history of the sorting ceremony, and the qualities and virtues each of the Founders wanted in their students. When the song ended, the students and faculty applauded. McGonagall held up a piece of paper. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

She turned her attention to a list of names in her hand. "Abbott, Hannah!" A blonde girl moved to the front and sat on the stool, her face betraying her nervousness. Sihir sympathised, as he disliked going first as well. Luckily for him, his name began with a W. McGonagall placed the hat on her head. "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Great Hall erupted in cheers, mostly from the Hufflepuff table, but around the Hall the Houses applauded politely.

"Brown, Lavender!" This girl was sorted into Gryffindor. The Slytherin table was noticeably absent in the applause.

"Crabbe, Vincent!" Crabbe, who looked somewhat thuggish, was sorted into Slytherin. The Gryffindor table was absent applause, this time.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" The muggle-born student approached the stool and sat. "HUFFLEPUFF!" Justin grinned with approval down at Sihir, and went to join his House.

"Granger, Hermione!" The frizzy-haired girl walked up to the stool. She was sorted into Gryffindor, much to her delight.

"Malfoy, Draco!" The hat barely touched his head before the hat sent him to Slytherin. He seemed pleased.

"Nic Duibh, Aoibheann!" The quiet girl from the boat strode up to the stool, and Sihir noticed some of the faculty at the head table whispering discreetly, or at least attempting to. "SLYTHERIN!" Aoibheann's face was neutral as she made her way to the Slytherin table.

"Patil, Padma!" An Indian girl walked forward slowly, and sat on the stool. A few seconds passed. "RAVENCLAW!" She smiled, and walked excitedly to join her House.

"Patil, Parvati!" Parvati surprised Sihir, and he was sure many others, by being sorted into Gryffindor, and not joining her twin.

"Potter, Harry!" A collective gasp found its way through the room, and murmuring not dissimilar to what the First Years were saying earlier. The Boy Who Lived walked slowly to the stool, and sat down. A full minute passed. "GRYFFINDOR!" Harry seemed pleased, and sighed with relief. The Gryffindor table was noticeably more excited then any name previously.

"Longbottom, Neville!" Sihir went pale. Longbottom? "GRYFFINDOR!" _I go by Warren, not Mostafa, so he won't know_ … Sihir looked at the rest of the first years left. Not many. A red-headed boy was looking around too, and shot Sihir a nervous grin and a shrug.

"Warren, Sihir!" Sihir hesitated, took a step forward, and tripped over the steps to the dais. A few people along the benches chuckled, quickly ended with a stern look from McGonagall. Sihir quickly sat down on the stool. The hat was placed on his head.

 _"Now this is interesting..!"_

Sihir was shocked. _Are you in my head?_

 _"Yes, I'm in your head. And on it. Not a bad mind at all, reminds me of that Granger girl I Sorted a few minutes ago. Could be a solid case for Ravenclaw. You also know that it's good to have friends in high places. Interesting… you want to be remembered. For something better than your… family history."_ Sihir's fists clenched in his lap. _"Surprised to see Longbottom, were you? What your father did to his parents…"_

Sihir's initial shock gave way to fury. _He is NOT my father._

 _"Of course he is. I can understand not taking his last name, however. I sorted Naima Warren thirty years ago, I knew how she'd turn out. Imperioused by a Heka fanatic, forced to have his child. She turned out well, considering. She healed from all that tragedy and became a healer herself. But you… Ambitious. You want ambition? I'll give you ambition. Ravenclaw isn't for you. You won't be remembered as a Ravenclaw. You're going to be respectability back to the House that housed the likes of Merlin. You want to be remembered, young man? You'll be remembered as 'Sihir Of-'"_

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat said the last word aloud to the Great Hall, and three tables erupted in applause. Sihir set his mouth in a grim line, nodded, and walked off to join his House.

* * *

 _ **A.N. The First Year is just a prologue, though we may see "flashbacks" to the first year is future chapters. Please Review and Follow, and I hope I actually finish this damn story I have in my head.**_


	2. Second Year: Books

**Second Year: Books**

* * *

 _"You know, I don't think there ever was a 'quiet year' when it came to Hogwarts. There was always something happening involving our favorite bespectacled sensation." River laughed on the other end of the line. "Quirrell trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, the Triwizard Tournament, and now actual Death Eaters as our professors? No, nothing quiet at all. As far as which year was the quietest for me?"_

 _"Sure, go ahead."_

 _"First Year, hands down. I was still figuring out how to be a Hogwarts student, especially as a Slytherin with… unwanted ties to the old Death Eaters. A few of the others were PROUD of that rubbish." He paused. "The most interesting thing that happened was the beginning of an intellectual rivalry between a certain muggle-born wunderkind and myself. If she's listening, she knows who she is. Stay safe out there._

 _"Second year is where school started to get interesting for me. That's the year lines were being drawn in the sand. That said, the year started off innocently enough…"_

 _\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998._

* * *

Naima Warren looked over Sihir's new supply list. Cauldrons, gloves, and most of the core subject books would last through the Fifth year, most lists afterward usually only had a few new books. This list was a bit longer, however, than she remembered from her own Second year. "Your new Defense professor wants all of these Gilderoy Lockheart books!"

"Oh?" Sihir peeked at the list. "You have those ones, right?"

"Yes, would you want to borrow them? No need to get brand-new books if we have them here. Otherwise, this list is well over thirty galleons!"

Sihir nodded. "Makes sense. Now all I have to get is the _Standard Book, Volume Two_."

"I wonder who the new professor is. Smart of them to assign Lockheart's books, he's done some brilliant things!" Naima didn't notice her son rolling his eyes. "You know, he's signing his new Autobiography on Wednesday… Oh, I have to work. You think you could get a copy signed for me? You could get all your shopping done that day, too!"

Sihir straightened up. They'd been talking about Sihir possibly going to Diagon Alley on his own. "Sure, I can do that."

"You are absolutely sure you can handle Diagon Alley by yourself?"

Sihir nodded excitedly.

Naima ruffled his hair. "You're able to handle your shopping on your own, you're smart about purchases, responsible… you're really growing up, Sihir. I'm proud of you, you know that, right?"

Sihir edged out of reach, grinning. "Come on, mum, stop!"

Naima smiled, but was frowning on her way to St. Mungo's. _Considering the things he knows, he's well-adjusted. I couldn't hold anything back, he needed to know what his father did, who the Death Eaters were. I'm just glad he's taking after me._

* * *

"Alright, who is next? Ah…" Sihir stepped forward in the line, _Magical Me_ in hand. "And who, young man, am I making this out to?" Gilderoy Lockheart, bedecked in eye-catching blue robes, flashed a smile at the young wizard.

"My mother, Naima Warren." Sihir held out the book.

"N-A-I-M-A?" Sihir nodded. "Right." Gilderoy signed the book, and handed it back to Sihir, winking. "Here you are." He turned his attention down the line. "And who is next?"

Sihir was glad to be out of the line, though he practically had to shove through the small bookshop on the way out.

"Hey, Sihir!" A voice called him from above. Sihir turned to find a fellow Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, leaning over the bannister, smiling down at him. Sihir waved up at him, and made his way to the stairs. Despite Sihir's initial impression of Draco, he found himself enjoying his friendship. Draco had helped Sihir during their initial flying lessons, after Harry had been taken away by McGonagall. Sihir repaid him by helping him on his History of Magic assignments (he had, in fact, been helping quite a few of the Slytherins on their History of Magic assignments, most of whom weren't as interested in history as Sihir.)

He met Draco by the window. "Draco!" He settled against the bannister. "Wasson?"

Draco nodded. "All right?" Sihir nodded back. Draco spotted _Magical Me_ in Sihir's arm, and grinned. "Getting that signed?"

Sihir shrugged. "My mother wanted me to get it signed for her while she's stuck at St. Mungo's."

"Ah…" Draco said, turning his attention back to the crowd below. "Is she ill, or..?"

Sihir looked at Draco, amused. "She works there. She's a healer."

Draco nodded. "Oh, that's good." He turned to Sihir, noticing his smirk. He put his hands up. "Hey, sorry. Most of my friends' families are independently wealthy."

Sihir laughed at that. "It's fine. It's not like I'm poor, by the way," he added. "Mum just doesn't like…" He wanted to say "sitting around all day, snobbing it up," but decided against it. "She doesn't want to just sit around, she likes to keep busy."

Draco smiled. "Right, your family has quite a bit of Cleansweep money."

"Exactly."

Draco coughed suddenly. "Are those the Weasleys coming in?"

Sihir looked down. Indeed, the Weasley family was entering the shop. He spotted the twins (though he couldn't tell which was which,) Mrs. Weasley, Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect, and a girl who must have been Mrs. Weasley's daughter. She must be starting school this year. "That's them. You can't mistake that hair, can you?"

Draco chuckled, then frowned. "That whole family is a disgrace. Blood Traitors."

Mr. Weasley had just followed the rest of his family inside, chattering away excitedly with a couple. "...both are dentists, correct? I understand that many muggles are afraid of you..." These people stood out, not wearing robes like most of the shop patrons. Hermione's parents, probably.

"Just that, right there. Arthur Weasley, consorting with muggles." Draco shook his head.

The subject of blood treachery was a common one in the conversations held by the Slytherins of Sihir's year. As always, Sihir was silent, uncomfortable, not sharing the supremacist views of most of his House. A few of his friends at school were muggle-born. Justin sat with him on his first trip on the Express. He had a friendly academic rivalry with Hermione Granger (she had beaten him on the final exams, in all classes but History of Magic.) What did Draco truly think about Sihir, considering that fact?

"And it gets worse…" Draco said, interrupting Sihir's thoughts. The trio of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger had just walked into the shop, joining the Weasley family and Hermione's parents. "Potter…" This was said with disgust. He turned to look at Sihir, expectantly. "Well?"

Sihir shrugged. "What?"

"Well, don't you hate Potter as much as I do?"

"I'm more indifferent than anything."

"What do you mean, 'indifferent?'" Draco sneered. "They're the reason we lost the House Cup a few months ago, or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, giss on. I'm not one of your bleddy minions, Malfoy, don't talk down to me like an idiot." Sihir stared at Draco, who looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Yes, they won the Cup, but it was a fluke. They won all those points at the end of the year because of what happened with Quirrell. That's not going to happen again." Sihir pointed at Draco. "You need to stop worrying about him, focus on your studies. We are in school, remember?"

Draco scowled, then nodded. "That's a Ravenclaw sentiment if I've ever heard one."

Sihir smiled. "I get it from my mother."

"And what do you get from your father?"

Sihir's smile faded, and he practically felt the blood drain from his face. "Excuse me?" He asked, shakily.

Draco smiled. "My father told me about your father. Don't worry, though, I understand the need to keep that secret."

Draco turned his attention below, as Lockheart was making an announcement. Sihir continued to stare at him, his mind racing, afraid of how much Draco might know about Hanif. Draco may or may not know how much leverage he had over Sihir. If word got out that Sihir's father was a Death Eater, and currently in Azkaban... (and if Neville Longbottom of all people found out…)

"Did you hear that?"

Sihir jumped. "Huh- what?"

"Lockheart just said that he's our new Defence professor. Weren't you listening?"

He doesn't have anything better to do, famous author that he is? "Oh, 'diddy? I was… lost in thought for a moment there. Sorry."

Draco grinned. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." Draco made for the stairs.

Sihir raised his eyebrows, watching Draco make his way to the ground floor. He wondered who else might know. Theodore? Maybe Draco's minions, Crabbe and Goyle? Quite a few of the old Death Eaters had claimed to be under the Imperius Curse during the War, including Draco's father. Sihir's father, however, went to Azkaban with a smile on his face for what he did to the Longbottoms.

Sihir's fist clenched in his hand as his thoughts drifted to his father.

* * *

Few foreign wizards took to the Death Eaters, and Hanif Mostafa was one of them. The Mostafa family was one of the more respected families in Egypt, with a long recorded history stretching back to the time of Alexander. They were members of the Heka-Kemet cult, the descendants of the old priesthood of the Pharaohs, though they were long gone. Magical Egypt was split mostly along religious lines, rather than blood purity, though most Heka Kemet followers would be considered pureblood. Fanatics looked down on the Muslim magical community, viewing them as intruders into the Magical Egyptian community.

While most of the Mostafa Family were accepting of the Muslims, Hanif was not. He'd heard about the Death Eater's goals, and found possible allies in the domination of the usually muggle-born Muslims of his own country. You-Know-Who himself had expressed interest in the Heka Kemetic teachings, one of the truly magical religions, which allowed Hanif to be one of the select few in the inner circle. After the night You-Know-Who was defeated, Hanif and four other Death Eaters kidnapped Neville Longbottom's parents and tortured them.

The attack on the Longbottoms had been detailed in the book _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , shortly after the chapter detailing You-Know-Who's downfall, as one of the most heinous and most horrible crimes to be committed in the modern wizarding world. The assailants, Hanif Mostafa, Bartemius Crouch Jr, and three of the Lestranges (Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan) were all sentenced to life imprisonment in the wizarding prison Azkaban.

* * *

Sihir shook his head, banishing the thoughts. _Just keep it quiet, you don't need anyone else knowing about this._

Harry Potter had escaped the crowd applauding Gilderoy Lockheart, over by where the younger Weasley girl was standing, just under Sihir. He tipped his books into her cauldron. Draco strode over to confront him, and Harry turned, a scowl already present on his face. Sihir couldn't hear what they were saying, but thought it best. He didn't want to get in the middle of their feud.

Harry's friends, Ron and Hermione, joined them. Sihir smiled when he saw Hermione. They started becoming friendly after she was the first to master the Levitation charm. He'd have to go and say hello to her.

He made his way downstairs as Ron's face flushed scarlet, and moved towards Draco. Harry and Hermione held him back.

"Ron!" Mr. Weasley made his way over with the twins, struggling against the crowd. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well… Arthur Weasley." Sihir turned to find Draco standing next to a man wearing the same sneer on his face. Sihir froze as he recognized Draco's father, though he paid Sihir no mind.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward. "Busy time at the Ministry, I hear, all those raids…" He said, smirking. "I hope they're paying you overtime?" Sihir moved aside as Mr. Malfoy strode to the Weasley girl, taking a shabby, worn book out of her cauldron, well out of place amongst the quality new Lockheart books. "Obviously not…" He paused, looking over the Weasleys. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Sihir saw Mr. Weasley step forward slowly. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy." He said, calm but cold.

Malfoy Senior spied Hermione's parents, watching the confrontation. "Clearly!" He said, with disdain. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower..."

Mr. Weasley threw himself at Draco's father, knocking him into a nearby bookshelf. The crowd began to stampede, amid the punches and harsh words thrown around by the two. Sihir himself was knocked to the floor, attempting to break up Ron and Draco, as they threw themselves at each other again.

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up..!" The large groundskeeper from Hogwarts, Hagrid, pulled Draco and Ron's fathers off of each other. Mr. Weasley was tense, readying himself for another punch, and Mr. Malfoy shoved the younger Weasley's book back into her cauldron.

"Here, girl, take your book," he spat, venom in his voice. "It's the best your father can give you..!" He pushed Hagrid's arm aside, and beckoned to Draco to follow him out of the shop. Draco spotted Sihir on the floor and hesitated before nodding goodbye and following his father.

As Hagrid was straightening Mr. Weasley out, Hermione approached Sihir. "Are you alright, Sihir?" Hermione helped him up.

Sihir rubbed his nose. "I think I was hit in the face by _Fantastic Beasts_ , but I'm fine, considering." He grinned, and she chuckled.

"Kids, come on! Back to the Burrow!" The Weasleys and the Grangers were following Hagrid's lead to the door.

"We've got to go." Hermione said, looking back at her friends. Sihir noticed Ron giving him a dark look. Harry's was more distrustful. "Don't mind them."

"I get it, I'm a Slytherin." Sihir waved it off. He nodded at the two. "We should probably head out, that assistant isn't looking happy." He walked her to the door, and they joined Ron and Harry outside. "I've got a few stops left to make, anyway. The Daily Prophet Office, Quality Quidditch-"

"Quality Quidditch?" Harry asked. "You're not joining the team, are you?"

Sihir grinned at him. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm just getting a new Falcons banner for my dorm."

"Oh, come on. The Falcons?" Ron rolled his eyes. "You like the Falcons? They're just Beaters! And Beaters pretending to be Chasers," he began counting on his fingers. "...and a Beater pretending to be a Seeker, and..."

"Hey, don't talk about the Falcons, you _tuss_." Sihir said. Hermione watched the exchange, bewildered. Harry listened intently. "What's your team, then?"

Ron paused. "Chudley Cannons," he said, suddenly defensive.

Sihir scoffed. "Ninth place, soon to be last? Yeah, please don't embarrass yourself! The last time they won League was literally a century ago." The two bickered back and forth about the teams all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, where the group parted ways with Sihir more amicably than he thought they would.

* * *

Platform 9 didn't have the same chaotic feeling Sihir remembered from his First year. In fact, he was more excited than anything. He saw some familiar faces: Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini from his own house. Padma Patil, from Ravenclaw, and her twin sister Parvati from Gryffindor.

Aoibheann, another Slytherin, was there too, talking with what looked to be her parents, who looked uncomfortable being there. They were strangely dressed. Aoibheann herself was in her Hogwarts robes already, but her parents stood out. Not muggle clothing, but the style of the robes seemed ancient, out of place among the robes other witches and wizards wore. Sihir made a note of that, a question for later.

"You don't seem as nervous as last year!" Naima Warren smiled down at her son.

Sihir smiled back. "No, I'm excited."

"You know, you get to choose your Third Year electives this year." She elbowed him playfully. "It's never too early to start thinking about that. Just don't choose Divination, it's haraam."

"Sihir!" Sihir turned, and saw Hermione Granger coming his way, her parents following.

"Hermione!" Sihir turned to his mother. "Mum, this is Hermione. I've told you about her."

"Ah, yes! The genius, right?" Hermione and Sihir blushed as Hermione shook hands with Naima.

"Mum, Dad, this is Sihir and Ms. Warren."

"Pleasure to meet you, young man!" Said Hermione's father, shaking Sihir's hand. "Ms. Warren!"

"Call me Naima, please!" Said Sihir's mother, shaking the Grangers' hands.

"I'm Jean, and this is Thomas."

"Well, I think you two should go and find some seats? It's good to find a compartment early, they fill up fast." Naima hugged her son. "Have a good Second year, Sihir."

"I will!" Sihir set off to search for an empty compartment, joined by Hermione.

"It was nice meeting your mum, Sihir." She grinned at him as they made their way across the platform. "Did you really call me a genius?" She laughed as Sihir blushed in response. "What does she do, again?" Hermione asked, stepping onto the train.

"She's a Healer, actually. You said your parents are doctors, right?" Sihir asked, looking into the compartments as they traversed the Express.

"Dentists, actually. Doctors for teeth." She looked away from Sihir, as if hiding her own teeth, and feigned looking for a compartment.

"Oh, here we go! Want to sit together?" They had finally reached an empty compartment.

Hermione hesitated. "Do you mind if Harry and Ron join us?" Hermione asked, nervously. "I told them to find me on the Express."

"Hey, that's fine. Ron and I can continue our discussion of why the Cannons are terrible." Sihir quipped.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Ron actually enjoyed talking Quidditch with you, actually. I was surprised, I thought he didn't like you too much."

"Well, I was one of the people rubbing the 150-point loss in your face a few months ago." He laughed as he sat down across from her. "You three pulled out a win in the end, though, so more power to you."

Hermione shrugged. "Either way, I'm glad to see them warming up to you." She looked out the window. "What time do you have?"

Sihir checked his watch. "10:58"

"They're so late! Where are they..?" Hermione's worries were soon alleviated, however, as she spotted a crowd of redheads rush through the platform. "Oh, I see the twins, there. Harry and Ron shouldn't be far behind!" She sat back, relaxed. "I wonder what held them up?"

"Harry is staying with the Weasleys? I heard he lived with muggle relatives after the... you know." He pointed at his own scarless forehead.

"Usually, but they're horrid people. Did you hear..?"

The train took off as Hermione explained Harry's situation with the Dursleys.

"...had to take Mr. Weasley's flying car to rescue him!"

Sihir's eyes were wide. "The Dursleys sound…" He shook his head. "I don't… They just sound cruel. Evil, even!"

"Oh, Percy!" She stood suddenly and leaned out of the carriage. The tall, redheaded Gryffindor Prefect stopped as Hermione called his name, smiling at her, though looking a bit distracted. He walked back at a brisk pace.

"Oh, Hermione, good to see you." Looking into the compartment, he noticed Sihir sitting across from her. "Oh, you're… What's your name, again?"

"Sihir Warren, Second Year."

Percy snapped his fingers. "That's right, in Slytherin." He eyed Sihir with uncertainty as he turned his attention towards Hermione. "What's up, Hermione? I have to go… Prefect's meeting."

"I was just wondering where Ron was. He and Harry were supposed to join us."

"Ah, yes. We were a bit late coming in. I'm sure they were behind us." He turned to continue his way down the carriage. "They're probably getting the luggage sorted with Fred and George! I've got to go!"

Hermione sat back down, dissatisfied. "Where could they be?"

* * *

 _"'Innocently enough?'"_

 _"I mean, it's not like the Basilisk was released the day term started, was it?"_

 _"True."_

 _"There was still excitement. If anybody listening was subscribed to the Daily Prophet in September 1992, they might remember an Evening Prophet article about a flying automobile was spotted by a few muggles, flying through Britain." River burst out laughing. "I sat with Hermione Granger on the Hogwarts Express in our Second Year. We were expecting to be joined by Harry and Ron. Turns out it was them flying that car from London all the way to Scotland." Sihir paused as River's laughter died down. "Good gas mileage."_

 _River let out another chuckle. "I can't believe I forgot about that."_

 _"Not surprising, considering what happened later in the year."_

 _\- Excerpt from a "History Lessons" segment on Potterwatch between regular guest Sihir Warren and host Lee Jordan, early 1998_

* * *

 ** _A.N. A few edits, but mostly the same. Just including Aoibheann, establishing some things._**


	3. Second Year: Mudblood

**Second Year: Mudblood**

* * *

 _Dear Sihir,_

 _I just wanted to wish you a good year! Keep up the good work, remember to keep practicing your Transfiguration. It was nice meeting your friend Hermione, and her parents. I was laughing on the way to work, you two were blushing so much when I said you called her a genius!_

 _Love, Mum._

Sihir was embarrassed at the implication in his mother's letter. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione sat, her face hidden behind a book, a big mane of bushy hair peeking out. _I've never been really interested in anyone before, but… she is really smart and I'm kind of drawn to that… I don't know._ Sihir shook his head, turning his attention away from his growing interest in Hermione.

He picked up another envelope, this one from his Egyptian uncle, Hassan Mostafa. A former Quidditch star, he was now a referee working for the Internationals. He'd recently begun learning English to correspond with Sihir, and he was improving, though his writing was sometimes strange. It was clearer when he wrote in Arabic.

 _Sihir,_

 _Hope you are enjoy this message! I remember that you were not interested in making with the Quidditch team, but if you change your mind, know that I are send the Cleansweep program very well and know if your mom hates sending you to Nimbus!_

 _Some international news: I chose to evaluate the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, and the responsibility of other judges was to plan the event (I think it's fair to conclude evaluating matches!)_

 _Heka's favor,_

 _Uncle Hassan_

Sihir smiled widely at his uncle's letter. Hassan Mostafa, _his_ uncle, was refereeing the World Cup in a few years. He might not have any interest in being a Quidditch player, but, like most of the wizarding world, he enjoyed watching it, discussing it, speculating on the season, et cetera.

"Bacon, Sihir?" Asked Daphne Greengrass, reaching for the plate between them.

Sihir shook his head. "No, thank you. No bacon, no ham, no pork. I can't eat anything made from pig." He grinned. "Jelly Slugs are out, too." He took a bite of toast.

"Wait, what's wrong with them?" She asked.

Sihir swallowed. "They are made with gelatin. Specifically, gelatin made from pigs."

"It's your religious diet thing, right?"

"Yep. Well, vegetable gelatin is alright. When there's jelly for afters at dinner, they serve a plate of halal jelly. You've tried it, Draco."

Draco made a face, remembering. He had tried it at dinner during last year's exams, and he did not enjoy it. "It tasted strange."

Sihir shrugged. "I like it."

" ** _RONALD WEASLEY!_** " A sudden shrieking was coming from the Gryffindor table, interrupting the chatter going on in the Hall. Nearly everyone was swiveling around on the benches, or sitting up to look at what was happening. A howler was shouting at Ron Weasley, who was petrified in his seat. " ** _-I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET HOLD OF YOU-_** " Mrs. Weasley's voice was so loud it was causing Sihir's plate to rattle slightly, a few tables away. " ** _-I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME-_** " Ron's face was almost the same shade as his hair. " ** _-AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!_** " The envelope burst into flames in Ron's hand, who had not moved an inch. Harry, sitting next to him, had his face in his hand. There was a silence that lasted for about four seconds.

Sitting across from Sihir, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle turned back around, shaking with laughter. "My. God. That was amazing..." Draco said, almost weeping.

Tracey Davis, usually one of the quietest of their year group, had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. "I almost feel bad for him!"

Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, made his way down the table, handing out class schedules to each Year group. "Second years!" He held up a small stack of schedules, and handed it down to Sihir. "Term schedules. Hand these out, Mr. Warren." He moved on to the Third Years.

Sihir handed them out to the surrounding Second Years. "Bulstrode, Crabbe, Davis. Goyle, Greengrass. Malfoy, Nic Duibh, Nott, Parkinson… here's mine… and Zabini." He looked over his schedule. History Of Magic first.

Draco cleared his throat. "Sihir, you mind if we..?"

Sihir grinned. "Yes, you can use my notes."

* * *

"Morning, everyone!" Professor Sprout, the jovial Head of Hufflepuff House. She looked the part of a Herbology expert, almost always having dirt in her clothes and fingernails. _Nothing wrong with that. She obviously enjoys what she does,_ Sihir thought to himself. She tapped an empty pot with her wand, getting the attention of the Second Year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. "Good morning, everyone!" She repeated.

"Good morning, Professor Sprout!" The class chorused.

"Welcome to Greenhouse _Three_ , Second Years! Now, gather 'round, everyone." The class sorted themselves around the long table in the center of the Greenhouse. "We'll be repotting _Mandrakes_ today. Now, who can tell me about the Mandrake?"

A few hands shot up around the greenhouse, most of them Ravenclaw. Sihir had his hand raised, as he could have easily answered the question. He'd learned quite a bit about antidotes from his mother, a Healer. Professor Sprout, however, called on Padma Patil. "The Mandrake is used for antidotes, to cure people who have been transfigured or cursed."

"Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw." The Ravenclaws shot approving smiles at Padma. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

Sihir's hand shot up again. Professor Sprout gestured to him. "Let's hear from Slytherin?" She, like many of the professors at Hogwarts, was a fair grader, unlike Sihir's own Head of House, Professor Snape, who often favored those of Slytherin over the other Houses, especially Gryffindor. Sihir took full advantage of that fact without shame.

Sihir cleared his throat. "A Mandrake can kill you with its cry."

"Very good, take ten points." Theodore Nott elbowed Sihir, grinning. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young." She indicated the row of trays, each filled with purple-green tufts of leaves. "Everyone take a pair of earmuffs." Sihir was stuck with one of the pink and fluffy pairs, which were avoided by most of the students. "When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely covered._ When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up." She picked up a pair herself. "Right. _Earmuffs on!_ "

Professor Sprout showed the class how to properly repot the Mandrakes. Four basic steps: Firm grip, hard pull, new pot, cover with dirt. After the demonstration, the class was divided into groups of four to repot the Mandrakes.

* * *

"Okay, _how useless_ was that lesson?" Draco Malfoy asked, pausing on the grand staircase to catch his breath. The Slytherin Second Years had just escaped from the DADA classroom after the Pixies had gone berserk and ended their first lesson early.

"I mean, I already knew how to deal Cornish Pixies. _I'm_ Cornish." Sihir leaned against the stone railings as the staircase moved. "I think I learned less than the rest of you."

"Cornish?" Pansy Parkinson asked. "I thought you were, like, Indian or something." It was true, Sihir was significantly darker than your average Cornish person. Not to mention the taqiyah cap he wore on his head. The Slytherins chuckled.

The staircase came to a stop, and Sihir allowed his West Country accent come out. "Oh, well, I'm fer 'avin' a geek a' they books."

Draco and Theodore laughed even harder, and Pansy made a face. "God, you sound just like that oaf who lives on the grounds, stop it!"

Sihir set out on his way, grinning. " _Off ter 'ave a geek a' they books!_ " He repeated, grinning at Pansy. _Serves her right for not remembering where I'm from._

"The first day back?" Asked Daphne, hiding her smile as Pansy rolled her eyes and set out for the Dungeon.

"O' course!" Sihir called back over his shoulder, stepping off the stairs onto the First Floor as the rest continued on their way to the Common Room.

"Mind if I tag along? I need to run something by you, Sihir." Draco said, joining him.

"What's up?" Sihir dropped the exaggerated accent.

"I'm just remembering what we talked about at Flourish And Blotts." He grinned. "You were right, I need to be more... _productive_ with my rivalry with Potter, at least. I'm joining the Quidditch Team."

Sihir smiled, internally sighing a breath of relief. _He's not talking about Hanif, good._ "There you go! You're a talent on the broomstick, that's brilliant. Tryouts are next week, right?"

Draco grinned roguishly. "I won't have to worry about that. I've already made the team." Sihir raised an eyebrow, giving Draco a questioning look. Draco grinned further. "My father bought the entire team Nimbus 2001s."

Sihir scoffed, but grinned. "You absolute _tuss_."

Draco laughed. They were just outside the Library. "I know you don't approve, being such an _advocate_ of Cleansweep."

Sihir chuckled. "Well, I know you're a fair flyer. What position are you playing?"

Draco's eyes glinted with mischief. "Seeker."

* * *

"He called you a _what?!_ " Saturday afternoon found Sihir in the Library, a constant haunt for him. He was joined at half past two by Hermione Granger. Their rivalry wasn't one of antagonism, and they often studied together when she wasn't with Harry or Ron. The afternoon's silence was disturbed as she caught him up on what had occurred at the Quidditch Pitch.

" _Mudblood…_ " Hermione whispered, indicating over to Madam Pince, the librarian, who was staring daggers at Sihir after his outburst.

"Sorry, that's just…" Sihir was shocked. He knew that most of the Slytherins in his Year, if not most Slytherins in general, disapproved of Muggle-born students, but he hadn't heard of any using that particular slur until then. It was not often heard in polite conversation. "You don't hear of people using that word often. _I_ haven't heard it from any of them even in the Slytherin Dungeon."

"Really?" Hermione retrieved one of Lockheart's books, _Wanderings With Werewolves,_ from her bag.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." He flipped through his own book, _Magical Drafts And Potions._ Professor Snape had assigned a short essay on the making and possible uses of a Swelling Solution. The book listed the ingredients: 3 puffer-fish eyes, dried nettles, and a bat spleen. Sihir wrote them down in his notes.

He looked back at Hermione, thinking about something he'd read once. "The whole 'blood purity' thing wasn't widespread until after the International Statute of Secrecy was created." He told her.

Hermione looked at Sihir, eyebrows raised.

Sihir smiled. "Yeah, most people were pretty accepting of Muggle-born wizards and witches. In the 16th century we called them 'magbobs.'"

Hermione giggled at the word. "Magbobs?"

"Magbobs. One whose magic just bobs up out of nowhere." Sihir chuckled.

Hermione rolled her eyes at that, but was still giggling. "Is that a joke?"

"No, I'm serious." He sighed. "I'm sorry that it was one of _my_ Housemates that said that, I just want you to know that I prefer the term 'magbob' to 'mudblood.'"

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Sihir. It means a lot." _Maybe I do like her…_

* * *

When Draco had arrived in the Slytherin Dungeon the evening of the incident, he was greeted with silence. Some were staring at him in awe, most with shock, a few (significantly less than the other two) with outright disapproval. The silence was broken when Gemma Farley, now in her Sixth Year, dragged him off to a corner and chastised him for using that word.

What Sihir noticed most, however, was Tracey Davis' face as Draco entered. Pure, unadulterated, loathing. It left her face quickly as she noticed Sihir looking at her. He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, the look in her eyes making it clear she didn't want to talk about it. Sihir nodded, disappointed, but respectfully backing off. Slytherin drama was entertaining, and he liked being "in the know."

Afterwards, as if emboldened by the incident at the Quidditch Pitch, the word started to become more and more commonplace around the Slytherin Dungeon and their table in the Great Hall. This disturbed Sihir greatly. By Halloween, much to Sihir's relief, most people were instead talking about the upcoming Quidditch Match against Gryffindor, Draco's first.

Slytherins up and down the table were stopping by to offer the new Seeker advice. Terence Higgs was the Seeker last year. He left the team to concentrate on his NEWT studies, which were apparently exhaustive, as he approached the new Seeker with his face buried in a book, only breaking off his studies to relay some advice. "The only reason Gryffindor lost the Cup last year is because _Potter_ was in hospital. _Don't underestimate him._ " Draco nodded solemnly at this, and Terence stalked off, returning to his book.

As soon as Terence left, however, a sneer decorated Draco's face. "I can outfly Potter blindfolded!" He went on to describe his prowess on the broomstick, as Sihir and Blaise shared a sly look, wordlessly saying the same thing. _All talk._ None of their comments were said aloud, however. As they were taught on their first day, disagreements between Slytherins were to be settled in private, in public a united front must be presented. So Sihir and Blaise nodded along, and as the Halloween feast ended, the students left the Great Hall.

* * *

 ** _Sihir Warren's School Journal, Second Year_**

 ** _November 1st, 1992._**

 _Looks like I was wrong, something crazy WILL happen involving Harry this year._

 _Earlier tonight (technically, last night. It's after midnight now, we've been up talking about it for hours now) something strange, even by Hogwarts standards, happened. We were walking back from the Great Hall after the Halloween Feast ended, and we (a LARGE number of students, if not most of the school) ended up in a corridor on the Second Floor. How we got THERE, of all places, is still a mystery to me. Going the wrong way to get to the Dungeons. It seems… suspicious, at best._

 _Enough about HOW we got there._

 _There they were. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and my friend Hermione Granger standing near some writing on the wall: "_ ** _THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_** _. " The Chamber, obviously, referring to my House's founder, Salazar Slytherin, and his supposed secret room, or lair, or hall. Something like that._

 _The writing mentions an heir, as well. That's part of what worries me. The Chamber is supposedly secreted away, and only the descendent of Slytherin can find and open it. That's the myth, at least. No one really holds much stock in it, and Hogwarts: A History only mentions it briefly._

 _But we arrived, saw what was going on, and Draco Malfoy (a fellow Slytherin in my year) just HAD to go and shout the word. "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" I had hoped that the use of that disgusting word had ceased. But no, now everyone in the Dungeon tonight was wondering who'd be first to go. Draco and a few others were listing off all the Muggle-born students they knew of before a few of the prefects put a stop to it._

 _I thought an acquaintance of mine, Tracey, was going to hex him for a moment. I'd been noticing her discomfort with the usage of that word, "mudblood." She hasn't said anything about it, but I'm curious, and could only guess as to her reaction._

 _Really, most of all, I'm worried that Hermione and my other friend Justin, both Muggle-born, might get hurt or even killed if this myth turns out to be true._

 _I write this more to vent my frustrations and worries with what's going on, but maybe to have a fresh record of what might be going on. This might be useful in the future if they ever write books about this time period in Hogwarts' history, having a first-hand account of a Slytherin student from late-1992 until mid-1998, when I graduate. Who knows? Inshallah, it'll be useful._

* * *

"Warren, stay behind." It was a few days after the incident in the Corridor, and it was the last class of the day, Potions. The school was still abuzz with rumors about the Chamber being opened. Sihir wasn't sure what to believe, where the Chamber was concerned.

"In trouble, Sihir? What did you do?" Nott asked, grinning. Zabini sniggered.

"Giss on…" Sihir said, though he was nervous. He was sure he wasn't doing anything wrong, but even being held back after class made it seem so. He made his way to Professor Snape as the rest of the class filed out of the room. "Sir?"

Professor Snape stood out of his chair, regarding the young wizard with his familiar cold expression. "No need to be alarmed, Warren. Your work is admirable, as always," he said, dryly. Sihir sighed a breath of relief. "This isn't about your grades. The Headmaster wants to see you."

* * *

 **AN. In the next Chapter, Sihir Warren encounters a family member he did not expect...**


	4. Second Year: Myrtle

**Second Year: Myrtle**

* * *

 **Previously:**

 _"Warren, stay behind." It was a few days after the incident in the Corridor, and it was the last class of the day, Potions. The school was still abuzz with rumors about the Chamber being opened. Sihir wasn't sure what to believe, where the Chamber was concerned._

 _"In trouble, Sihir? What did you do?" Nott asked, grinning. Zabini sniggered._

 _"Giss on…" Sihir said, though he was nervous. He was sure he wasn't doing anything wrong, but even being held back after class made it seem so. He made his way to Professor Snape as the rest of the class filed out of the room. "Sir?"_

 _Professor Snape stood out of his chair, regarding the young wizard with his familiar cold expression. "No need to be alarmed, Warren. Your work is admirable, as always," he said, dryly. Sihir sighed a breath of relief. "This isn't about your grades. The Headmaster wants to see you."_

Sihir's eyes widened. "Wait, Professor Dumbledore wants to… why?"

Professor Snape's eyebrow rose. "I'm sure he'll tell you when we get to his office. Now, pack your things and follow me."

Sihir packed his things quickly, and followed Professor Snape out of the Potions classroom and into the hallway. Nott and Zabini were waiting outside, watching Sihir follow the Professor with eyebrows raised. Sihir shrugged on his way past, trying to keep up with the long strides of his Head of House.

As they made their way down the halls and up the Grand Staircase, Sihir's mind raced. _Why does Professor Dumbledore want to see me?_ He thought about the Chamber being opened. _He can't suspect ME of all people, can he? There's no way! I'm pretty sure the Warrens aren't related to Slytherin in any way, and it's unlikely Slytherin had any ties to the Mostafas._ Back in the Founders' time the Mostafas still went by the Kemet names, not adopting the Mostafa name until the 18th Century, when Egypt, Muggle and Magic both, were under Ottoman rule.

Professor Snape stopped before a large and ugly stone gargoyle before a wall. He sighed. "Lemon drop…" He said, rolling his eyes as the gargoyle hopped aside. The wall behind it split, and a moving spiral staircase was revealed. Snape beckoned him in, and they made their way up the moving staircase. They came before a gleaming oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Professor Snape knocked on the door, which opened on its own. The two stepped inside.

The Headmaster's office was impressive. A large circular room, the walls lined with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom seemed to be sleeping. Dumbledore himself was seated behind an enormous desk, upon which were standing strange silver instruments that made weird noises and released little puffs of smoke. Sihir had no idea what their purpose was.

Professor Snape gestured down to his student. "Warren, Headmaster."

Sihir turned towards the Headmaster, regarding him for the first time up close. If anything would resemble the character Gandalf from the muggle _Lord Of The Rings_ books, he was the one. The only difference was his apparel. Much more flashy than a grey or white robe.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at Sihir, which soothed his worries immediately. He stood and walked over. "Thank you, Severus. Please, leave us." Professor Snape nodded, turned, and left the room.

A sudden cawing sound distracted Sihir. A magnificent red bird was perched by the desk, its eyes studying him. Sihir's eyes widened, only having ever seen pictures of the being. "Is that… a Phoenix?"

Dumbledore nodded, guiding Sihir towards it. "His name is Fawkes. Quite remarkable creatures, phoenixes. You know about their tears?"

"They can heal almost any wound." Sihir said, smiling. "My mother works at St. Mungo's, she teaches me a lot about healing magic."

Fawkes cawed. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Please, sit down, Mr. Warren." Sihir sat in the chair across from the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat down at his desk, and leaned forward. "Now, Mr. Warren, I'm sure you are wondering _why_ I requested your presence here." He paused, as if waiting for Sihir to guess.

"The Chamber?" Sihir asked, warily.

Dumbledore nodded. "In a way." Sihir opened his mouth, ready to defend himself with the counters leaping to his mind. _There's no way I could have opened it! Is this because I'm a Slytherin? My family has no connection, not even the Mostafas!_ Before he could speak, however, Dumbledore raised a hand, almost shushing his very thoughts. "I know what you are thinking, but I don't suspect you of opening the Chamber, Mr. Warren."

Sihir sat back, relieved. "You don't?"

"I don't," he reassured Sihir. "It _is,_ however _,_ related to what I wish to speak to you about." He clasped his hands together. "What do you know about the last time the Chamber was opened?"

Sihir frowned. _Where's this going?_ "The last time, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I was the Transfiguration Professor back then, I still remember. The school was almost closed."

Sihir gulped. "So, the Chamber _is_ real, then?" Dumbledore nodded again. "I thought it was a myth."

"Well, the Chamber itself doesn't concern this conversation. What does is the fact that last time, after many petrifications like what happened to Mrs. Norris, one person died. A Muggle-born student. Her name… Myrtle Warren."

Sihir's eyes widened "Warren?"

"Warren," Dumbledore confirmed.

Sihir was still confused. "But… you said she was Muggle-born?"

"You are wondering, 'how are we related,' are you not?" Sihir nodded. "Myrtle Warren had an older brother, Benjamin Warren."

Sihir's eyes widened. He knew where this was going, now. "Grandpa Ben! I know he's a muggle, but he never mentioned a sister…" Sihir paused. "They weren't _obliviated_ after Myrtle died, were they?" he asked, horrified.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. I infer that he only talked about it _rarely,_ if ever. The death of a sister…" He paused for a fraction of a second, but quickly continued, hoping Sihir didn't notice. "...can be a painful thing to discuss with anyone, even family. He, as you know, by _astounding_ coincidence, married a witch, Ayesha Bashir, now Ayesha Warren."

Sihir nodded. "This is all adding up."

"What might shock you is that Myrtle Warren is still here, in the School."

"Excuse me?" Now Sihir was confused again. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"She is a ghost, currently haunting the Girl's Bathroom on the Second Floor. Most avoid that particular bathroom, and refer to her as 'Moaning Myrtle.'"

Sihir had heard the name before, from Gemma Farley the year before (she warned the new Slytherin girls against using that particular bathroom.) "Moaning Myrtle is my… grandaunt? Great aunt?"

"She is your grandaunt, yes."

"This is a lot to take in, Professor." Sihir was silent for a time, his mind racing. Dumbledore simply studied the boy, allowing him time to gather his thoughts. A question popped into Sihir's head. "Why are you telling me this? Couldn't my mother have told me?"

"Well, if she hasn't by now, she likely doesn't know." He leaned forward. "Since the Chamber seems to be opening once again, I feel it's within your best interests to know what happened. Your mother wasn't informed by the School when she attended Hogwarts, as there wasn't any threat of the Chamber opening then."

He rose from the desk, and led Sihir to the door. "Seeing as the bathroom is essentially _abandoned_ by the students and faculty, I give you permission to enter if you would like to talk to Myrtle." He paused at the door. "I would recommend caution in telling people about this. The Faculty know, of course, but if, say, a Prefect were to ask why you are entering or exiting a Girl's Bathroom, explaining the situation would be understandable, but with your fellow students, be cautious about who you tell."

Sihir nodded solemnly. "I understand, Professor. What should I tell people, if they ask why I'm seeing you now? My friends will be curious about where I went."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I've been informed that you have a keen interest in History…"

* * *

Sihir stood outside of the Girl's Bathroom, still running the conversation with Dumbledore through his head. _I have a relative who's a ghost._

Sihir took a breath, and stepped forward, pushing open the door and entering the deserted bathroom.

He immediately heard sniffles and the sounds of someone crying. "Myrtle?" Sihir called out. The sobbing stopped.

Myrtle floated through a closed stall and stared at him. Besides the obvious ghostly nature, she looked like a third, maybe fourth year, as she was when she died. She wore a school uniform, though it was slightly different than his own, likely a different style from a few decades ago. She look positively glum, with limply-hanging hair and thick glasses framing her face.

"What do you want? Come to gawk at the dead girl?" She sniffled.

"What? No, I…" He paused, wondering how to begin. "Do you remember Ben Warren?"

Myrtle started. She obviously hadn't heard that name in a long time. "My… my brother…" She studied Sihir's face. "How do you know Ben?"

"He's my grandfather." Myrtle's eyes widened. "I'm Sihir Warren, your grandnephew." She was silent, still studying his face. He smiled weakly. "This is probably the last thing you expected, huh?"

Myrtle nodded slowly. "This is…" She began sobbing again, turning from him. "I'm sorry, this is just… like you said. Unexpected."

Sihir stepped forward, attempting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, she was a ghost, and it passed through her.

"Oh, sorry, I was just…"

She glared at him. "Oh, forgetting I'm dead already, are you?" she practically snarled.

Sihir stepped back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any-"

"It's alright…" She paused, floating away from him. "I'm just… sensitive about it." There was a long silence as the two wondered what to say. "How… How did you find out?"

"Well, you've heard about the Chamber opening again?" She stiffened, but nodded. "Professor Dumbledore told me I had a right to know, since it was you who… died, last time."

She sniffled at that. "My brother never showed any sign of being magical."

"He's not magical, no. Believe it or not, he married a witch. My grandmother, Ayesha."

She had a puzzled look on her face for a few seconds, but suddenly burst out laughing, the change to levity from her previous moroseness that startled Sihir. "He married a witch! What are the odds?!" She continued to laugh, and Sihir, getting over his shock, joined in. "Please, tell me everything!" The two spent some time talking about their family, how Ben had converted to Islam to marry Ayesha Bashir, how the Bashirs, and now the Warrens, were involved in the Cleansweep Broomstick company.

"And what about your father? Who did Naima marry?"

Sihir went silent. Any joviality on Myrtle's face was gone. She knew she touched a nerve. "She didn't marry anyone." Myrtle stayed silent, allowing Sihir to continue. "My father was a Death Eater, from Egypt. He didn't like muslims, probably thought it'd be good sport to have complete control over a muslim witch while he was here working for You-Know-Who." He leaned against a stall, his face betraying his bitterness. "Not many people know. I go by the Warren name, of course, not Mostafa. Any crimes he committed can't be traced to me. Some of the other students who had Death Eater parents might know, though." _Malfoy definitely, Nott probably..._

"You're worried about being lumped in with them," Myrtle inferred. Sihir nodded. "Are the Mostafas known to be Dark wizards?"

Sihir shook his head. "Actually, Hanif was the black sheep of his family. The Mostafas are a good bunch, famous in Egypt."

He smiled, feeling better talking about his preferred relatives on that side. "Uncle Hassan kind of stepped in as a sort of father figure, after news got back to Egypt about Hanif. I think the Mostafas felt guilty about Hanif's actions. I get letters from Egypt all the time, from Hassan and my cousins."

Myrtle smiled again, glad to be back on a happier course in their conversation. However, Sihir checked his watch, noticing how long he'd been talking with her. "Oh, it's almost… I need to get going to the Great Hall."

"Sihir…" Myrtle began, slowly looking more morose again. "I've been here almost fifty years, I've been dead a long time. I don't know if I could be an 'aunt.' I never had many friends, alive or dead but... do you think we could be friends? You can visit me, we can talk about things?"

Sihir studied the ghost. He'd heard that Moaning Myrtle was rude, selfish, depressing. He didn't see any of that in the past few hours they spent talking. She just wanted someone to talk to.

He nodded. "I'd like that." Myrtle beamed at him.

* * *

"Sihir!" Sihir made his way over to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, where dinner was starting. His fellow Second Years were waving him over.

He found a seat next to Daphne Greengrass, who smiled at him as he sat down. "Hey Sihir."

"Hey Daphne."

"Sihir! Where did you go?" Nott asked. "We haven't seen or heard from you since Potions!" The others seemed interested as well.

"Well, I had to see the Headmaster."

"Was it about the Heir?" asked a Fifth Year who was listening in. A few of the older Slytherins were of the opinion that the Faculty would start isolating and interrogating the Slytherin students to find the Heir.

Sihir shook his head. "No. It's nothing to worry about." He remembered the story Dumbledore suggested he tell. "It's about History of Magic class. Binns is a ghost, right?" They nodded. "So, how do the History assignments get graded?" Their faces were blank. They hadn't thought of that. "It's NEWT students, nobody ever continues the class after their OWLs, so the highest graded History of Magic students are offered a Teaching Assistant position for extra credit."

"Oh, I see. That makes sense." Draco frowned. "But why were you talking to Dumbledore about that _now_? You're only in your Second Year."

"I think they sometimes like to get an idea of the students who might want the position early on. I was asked a few questions about the class, and I guess I know things that are OWL standard knowledge, so they would be interested in having me in the position come Sixth Year."

It wasn't a lie, there _were_ a few NEWT-level students grading the papers. It was a way for the school to judge possible future applicants for teaching positions.

"Strictly NEWT-level, though. I won't be grading any of your papers." Nott and Malfoy chuckled at that, and the subject was dropped for a more pressing matter. Quidditch.

* * *

Another attack happened after the first Quidditch game of the year. Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor First Year (and more importantly, a Muggle-born) was found petrified, much in the way Mrs. Norris was found. He was carrying a camera at the time, (he was known for snapping photographs around the school,) but hadn't captured a picture of whoever was behind the attacks.

To take his mind off the attack, Sihir found himself in the Library.

 _Incomplete Transfigurations are difficult to put right, but you must attempt to do so. Leaving the head of a rabbit on a footstool is irresponsible and dangerous. Say 'Reparifarge!' and the object or creature should return to its natural-_

"Sihir..?"

A whisper interrupted Sihir's studies, and he looked up from his _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._ He found Hermione, his usual study partner, sitting down across from him at their usual table, setting down her own books, and a pensive look on her face.

He smiled at her. "Wasson?"

Hermione sighed. "Never mind, it's…" She turned her attention past Sihir, then looked back to him. "You haven't… heard anything, have you? About the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing?"

Sihir cocked his head sideways. "No, I haven't."

Hermione bit her lip, and turned her attention past Sihir again. "What about… Draco? Has he been acting… funny, at all?"

Sihir could tell she was trying to be nonchalant about something. "Draco? What do you mean?"

"Well… you heard him the night the message was found on the wall, right?"

"You don't think he's the Heir, do you?"

Hermione's eyes darted to something behind Sihir a third time. Sihir looked behind him. "Wait-" Hermione started, but Sihir already noticed Ron Weasley standing a few tables away, trying to hide behind a bookcase. He made eye contact with Sihir.

Sihir raised an eyebrow, and waved him over. Hermione groaned quietly. Ron cursed, then walked swiftly over to their table, sitting next to Hermione.

Sihir shot a sour look at the two of them. "This is bleddy ridiculous. Why are you asking me these questions?"

Hermione gulped, and put her head down. Ron's face went red, and he looked away. "Well… You're in Slytherin, and you're Hermione's friend, so we thought you might know something we don't…" he said, abashed.

"And you had suspicions of the Heir being _Draco._ " Sihir stated.

Ron nodded. Hermione shrugged. "Ron brought it up, I thought it was a stretch." Ron's face went a bit redder.

"Because he said 'Mudblood?'"

Ron looked up sharply at the sound of the word. "Don't say that word!" he hissed, glaring now at Sihir.

Sihir held up a hand in apology. "You're right, it's a slur, and I shouldn't use it. I apologize." He _did_ feel uncomfortable even using the word in passing, especially in front of a Muggle-born. He had his own history of slurs thrown at him. A few muggle boys who called him "towelhead" on the occasions they would go to town.

Hermione looked grateful, but Ron still glowered. Hermione, noticing this, frowned. "Ron, honestly, Sihir isn't-"

"He's a Slytherin. I don't know why you and Harry talked me into this." He stood up from the table, giving one last dirty look at Sihir, and left the Library.

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry about him."

Sihir shrugged. "Weasley can think whatever he wants to, I know better." He frowned. "I thought he was alright with me, after Diagon Alley?"

She shook her head. "I mean, he was… but then I got called a Mudblood, and now he, well… if he didn't like Slytherins before…"

Sihir nodded, understanding. "Whose idea was it, by the way? To talk to me?"

She hesitated. "Harry, actually. We were visiting him in the Hospital Wing after the game, and he asked us to talk to you about Draco."

Sihir smiled humorlessly. "'Man on the inside,' something like that?"

Hermione grimaced. "Something like that."

"Well, as long as you're not asking me to actively spy on my friends for you."

Hermione shook her head immediately. "Absolutely not, I wouldn't ask you to do that."

Sihir nodded. "Well, good. Because I won't."

"But, nothing unusual you've noticed?"

 _Besides Myrtle, the over-use of the word "Mudblood," and a bludger following after Potter during the game?_. "Nothing."

* * *

 **AN: _And that's back to where we were when I first started over, so, bully for me. I've got another chapter hopefully coming soon. Sorry about the delay about this story, I've been busy with music stuff, and I recently started a D &D campaign that's been eating into my time as well, so, yeah. Please, please, PLEASE review! I would love to hear what y'all think!_**


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